Primary Menu

Basement

I’m sure if she’d ever written it
Mom’s novel would have been something.

She was never unhappy
teaching young women
the highly moral art of journalism,
but she always talked about unleashing
something more.

She collected books
discreetly, in boxes
between the furnace
and the dehumidifier.
Sociology, anthropology, first-
person accounts from survivors
of wars we’d never heard of.
Always threatening one day
she’d have the time
to start a fire in the basement
of our culture
that couldn’t be fought.

How could we have known
what our mother started down here
would only finish a story
our father had begun?

Survey

Brand New

Notes

I wanted to have most of Estuary II written by the start of 2015. Instead I've been on a three seven-month break, taking lots of inspiration from crappy TV and my newfound passion for photography. Part I is now starting to get clearer, which will make Part II a lot easier to write.

Thanks so much for reading.

xo,
Adam

Who are you?

I'm a poet, editor, tinkerer and designer. I love making books, pickles, and something just south of sense.

If you’re here at all, it means we’ve probably met, or you know someone who knows me. Thank you for being here. I put my heart, spirit, blood, and knuckle grease into this story for 12 years. It means so much to me that you’re here, reading it.

So it’s with great sadness I’m putting my strange, endless story on hold. My heart is with my photography these days, and has been for several years. I’ll keep the site up until the domain expires, and then it will return to the form of so many other unfinished stories: a meticulously organized collection of chapters on a personal computer.

Thank you for 12 wonderful and transformative, demanding and soul-wracking years.